Girls Aren't Pets
by thehush
Summary: At one point, this story was simply about Brigette and her struggle postGSII, but its turned into a trilogy or possibly more.


**"Girls Aren't Pets" by Erin**

_Brigitte._

The beast resting contently on the dirt floor of the basement opened its eyes as if the voice and the name combined woke a part of its mind. Whatever had once been a human girl was wrapped safely under thick peach skin and a soft brown coat of fur. Hazel eyes that yearned to be more than an autumn green, caught sight of a young man admiring bloody pieces of glass resting on a ratty mattress.

_You're not done, you know._

Something burning waved around him like a mist. A cigarette glowed in the dark. It wondered why it remembered what that thing was. A paw moved, dirt clinging to an already filthy paw. The creature began to sit up, resembling more of a dog than the white beast its sibling had been. It was more like a loyal dog.

_Fuck. Can you even hear me? _

He turned, looking toward it- Her. She cocked her head to the side, realizing she was a Her. Not an It.

I've been watching you. She keeps you down here, bringing unsuspecting idiots into the house just so she can get her way. Ghost isn't it? Yeah, that's it. Ghost.

The cigarette's light died.

Girls aren't pets.

She moved toward the young man, sniffing the air. Cigarettes. Smoke. A burning deep under her skin. Purple water.

You're starting to remember, aren't you? You can't live in that shell forever. You think if you live, that that will somehow make it all better. You aren't your sister, Brigitte. You aren't Ginger. You know a few things she didn't.

The beast snapped. The voice stopped.

---

A familiar pounding of feet could be heard overhead, giving Her the need to growl. "Brigitte!"

Ghost. That's what He called her. Why didn't she let Her outside?

The girl's voice started to trail off. "Brigitte I'm going to the store. I'll bring you back a steak!"

Images of snow covered forests and falling white flickered across Her eyes just as she caught sight of the young man again. He leaned against something that had held many strange colored objects that She couldn't identify- No. Shelf. Jars. She shook her head, growling softly in annoyance.

_Good. You're starting to wake up._

Cigarettes. Smoke. A dull glow rolling between his fingers.

_Do you remember how these taste? You use to smoke them. I could smell them in your hair whenever we were close._

Something stirred behind Her autumn green eyes. She could remember the taste of what He was holding. Remembered hands. Rough hands. A bone in Her paw popped, but not to relieve stress – but to shrink. She whimpered at the pain.

_Hands. That's a good start. They're only the tip of the iceberg. You won't know pain until you start to get down to your ribs._

Ribs. Spine. Pelvic bone. Names, names of bones She had. The beast lay down on the floor, turning away from the man.

_You're not joined at her wrist._

Pamela. She looked back. Gone.

_---_

It. She. Brigitte. The name had come to her late in the night while she paced the basement. She was restless, the animal in her falling away as she pieced together images, smells, tastes, words, names, voices, people. She could see herself and her sister. Her sister clearer than herself. However, as she pieced together more, her own image began to clear.

_You are not your sister._

She shook her head, shutting out his voice. She knew she wasn't the auburn haired girl cutting through the trees. She was the brunette running behind her.

_You know, I have to admit, I kinda wanted to know what sort of body you hid under all of your sister's oversized clothes._

She snapped at Him, but realized that was what she was trying to think of. Her body. Rough hands. She knew that already. Popping bones in her paws. God it hurt. Hurt like hell. God. Hell. The words were still puzzling to her. Jackets. Shirts. Skin. She was thin. Not like the other girl. The girl who ran freely away from her. Free. A bone popped in Her leg and she stumbled, feeling another one pop. God the pain. She wanted to be free. She wanted to be like the girl.

_No. Don't focus on that. Focus on the girl behind her. She's just as free as the girl in front of her – but she knows something the other girl doesn't know._

She snapped again, more out of frustration than anger. Thin. Smooth underneath. The soft worn fabrics covered up a thin body, well toned from being chased. From running. Some girls were born to be bitten.

Several things popped and she doubled over onto the dirt floor. She could remember the way Her skin felt when sitting in water. She could remember how the blade felt sliding over her skin. Cuts. Shallow cuts. The smell of blood returned to her faster than the cigarettes had.

Her skin suddenly felt too tight. She caught a flash of her face in a mirror. Familiar eyes stared back at her. She was looking for changes. The images began to come faster to Her. Memories of the life she had before the bite. Before her sister had been bitten. Before boys. Before blood. Before the forest called for them. Then, there was just Her. Brigitte. She lay, flat on her back, just staring up at the ceiling. She knew this was just a memory, but every inch of it she could sense.

_You're almost there. One more step._

Brigitte sat up, the world wavering only a little. She remembered this was a time where she was under the influence of monkshood. It made her dizzy but she kept her balance, nearing yet another floor length motel mirror. She stared into it, watching as a familiar figure appeared just behind her, shadowed by a hood.

Her voice was strange. "Ginger." She watched the figure smile, nodding. Voiceless.

_Blooming_. Had that been the word her mother used. _Your time will come._ Brigitte stared at her own reflection. She was thin but her arms and legs proved she hadn't let the outdoors go to waste. The verge of sixteen was evident under the once over sized shirt. What she had kept hidden under coats and sweaters, now filled out perfectly before her. Even her sleep shorts hung right off her now curving hips. Pamela would have been so proud.

"B." She looked back at Ginger to find a younger, more carefree version of her sister standing just inches away from her. "Remember the pact."

Brigitte scowled. "You're dead, Ginger. The credits have rolled. Now I'm just waiting for the fancy 'the end'.

Her sister's clever smile reminded her why she had followed her everywhere. "I'm not dead, stupid." A hand reached towards the mirror, pointing out Brigitte's heart. "I'm still there, aren't I? I'm still your sister, aren't I?" Now Ginger's face was beside her own as they stared into mirror. "We're both sixteen now, B. We made it."

She was right. Sixteen. Ginger would forever be sixteen and Brigitte had taken a part of her, with her. Out of Bailey Downs. Away from anyone and everyone. "Out by sixteen."

"Or dead in this scene." Ginger pressed her cold lips against Brigitte's face and smiled into the mirror. "But-"

They're voices intertwined. "Together forever."

Blood. It had all started with blood and ended in blood. Now, it would begin again, where it should have. "I miss you."

Ginger laughed, "Don't be such a wuss!"

Brigitte smirked. Her sister had been the only one who could ever really make her smile. "I love you."

With a seriousness rarely seen outside their basement walls, her sister nodded one last time. "I know."

The mirror shattered.

---

After a few months of being on all fours, you realize, being human is easier.

You can easily get the basement door open. You can climb up into the fresh air of the house Ghost kept clean. You can feel the smooth wood underneath your naked body. You can pull down and climb up latters much easier. You can surprise Ghost and drag her out of her seat more efficiently so you can throw her back down into the hall below. You can total the shotgun. You can steal some of Ghost's clothes. You can hop back down into the hall and saunter out the house like a normal person. You can yell back at the angry little girl, telling her you are not a pet and that if she comes looking for you – that she will be your first meal out in the wild.

Brigitte smiles, knowing that if she takes a stroll through the woods in front of her that she will reach a highway. She can smell the pleasant aroma of bacon and eggs cooking in a trucker's diner. She can tell the moon won't be full for another month, but that it really doesn't matter.

She can change anytime.


End file.
